Children of Rosenkreuz
by Maginisha
Summary: Translation of "Kinder des Kreuzes". The beginning of Schwarz.
1. I

"Eat dust, four-eyes!"

Dodging the blow before he saw it coming, Brad spun around, blocked the attacker's arm with his left arm and counter-attacked with his other hand in one single motion. His fist hit the stomach of the other boy. With a tormented sound his opponent crashed to the ground. Immediately he was above the blond boy he knew only fleetingly from school, pinning him to the ground and letting his fist strike down again. This time he aimed for the nose. It crunched and the hit boy yelped in pain. Blood shot out of the maltreated organ and sprinkled on Brad's white shirt. He raised his arm again.

"Hey, leave him alone," someone yelled close to him. A hand caught his next blow, several hands dragged him away from his victim.  
"Are you crazy? You're killing him! "  
The two companions of the brawler pushed him away and helped their friend to his feet. Dust clouds raised as they yanked him up and scraped his feet across the floor. The injured boy kept his hands pressed to his face and whimpered. One of the other two pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to his friend. It turned red immediately.

Brad was sitting on the floor and watched the three other boys attentively. The small stones of the sandy place stung uncomfortably through the thin fabric of his pants. It was bloodstained as well. He would have to wash it when he got home. The scorching rays of the July sunshine, which burned down on everything and everyone, would do the rest. He felt a drop of sweat trickling down his back before the fabric of his shirt absorbed it. Tomorrow he would be able to wear the clean clothes at school again. Like every day.  
"You won't get away that easily, freak!" The bigger one of the two cronies barked as he turned to face him again. The smaller one clapped his hands enthusiastically.  
"Yes, go! Show him! "

But the other boy hesitated. Brad looked up at him and felt another drop of sweat running down his back. The salty liquid began to gather under the edge of his glasses and bite in the corners of his eyes. This was not a good starting position for a fight. Nor was his inferior position on the ground. He quickly got to his feet and stood firm on the sandy ground. The three knew now that he was by no means as defenseless as they had thought. But they were three. This would not be a piece of cake, after all. An indefinable sense of danger tickled the edge of his consciousness, but he repressed it before it could become too important. He needed his concentration for the fight.

He waited. Hated to wait. Why didn't they attack?

Suddenly he noticed that the eyes of his once determined opponents had become restless. They slid past him into the shadows of the houses behind him. He suspected a trick. Did not turn around. They were still in the dead end he had been maneuvered into. Behind his back there were only the almost windowless, yellow walls of the backyard decorated with garbage bins that reeked because of the brooding heat. His shirt was sweat-soaked now, his fists damp from the inside. He resisted the urge to brush his forehead. Fearing they would interpret it as a weakness. The tingling of the violence hanging in limbo made him tremble.

"Let's go," the smallest of the group hissed. He turned to make a run for it and pulled his injured leader by the shoulder. "Come on. This means trouble. "  
The other two hesitated to follow him. They slowly crept backwards, their eyes still fixed on the shadows behind him. Then finally they turned around and took flight. He was tempted to exhale deeply, but didn't. The sense of threat became stronger. He clenched his jaw, his thoughts running through his head. What was he to do? Flee as well? Or stand against what lay behind him? Even before he quite knew what he was doing, he spun around with a determined face and raised his fists.

The shadows stared at him. Sweat burned in his eyes, but he did not dare to blink. Despite the stifling heat, the hair on his forearms raised. His breathing became faster. He swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry, parched. Something was there. Moving in the shadows. Approaching him slowly.

He felt the movement rather than seeing it. As if something was displacing the air around it and pushing it forward like a bow wave. The massive shape that began to emerge from the shadows was absurdly large. Like a giant from a fairy tale that came to snatch away the naughty children. The man stopped at the border between shadow and light. A ray of sunshine fell on carefully polished boots, followed by a pair of khaki trousers and jacket. The chest was adorned with badges. A uniform without a doubt. Military haircut, shaved on the sides, a neck like a bulldog and massive paws he dropped repeatedly into each other. He applauded?

The giant grinned and bared teeth that would have put a shark to shame.  
"Bravo, my boy," he said with a nod. "I'm impressed with how you finished the lads. My congratulations, Bradley. "  
Brad jumped as if the giant had hit him. How did the man know his name? Involuntarily, he stepped backwards. The watery blue eyes of his counterpart followed every movement.

"Bradley Crawford, born on November 20, 16 years old. Son of..."  
As he spoke, the giant stepped out of the shadows, picked up a fist-sized stone from the ground, threw it into the air once and caught it with one hand. Brad's eyes were glued to the stone, while the giant's words spilled into his ears. Something about this stone alarmed him.  
"Size 5 feet 6 inch, weight 64 pounds ..."  
As if by accident, the giant began to wander around, drawing a perfect circle around the boy in the middle. A circle that was getting tighter and tighter.  
"Living in..."  
Two steps, throw the stone and catch it again.  
"Student of the West Barringa High..."  
Two steps, throw stone and catch.  
"Grade average 1.0..."  
Two steps, throw, catch.  
"Favorite food...", he stopped and looked at Brad with his head slightly tilted. "Do you have a favorite meal, Bradley?"

"Brad," he breathed. "My name is Brad."  
The giant clicked his tongue reproachfully. "My my. That's not the name your dear mother gave you. You should honor your father and mother, you know that?"  
"Don't talk about my mother!" Brad snapped, clenching his fists again.  
"Oh, so tense today?" The giant asked cheerfully as he came to a halt near his starting position. "That's good. Very good, Bradley. And do you know why? "  
He did not wait for an answer, but continued instead: "It's like this: I know something else about you, my dear boy. I know that you can foretell the future."  
As he spoke the words, he took the rock and hurled it at Brad. Everyone else would inevitably have been hit on the head, but Brad avoided the missile and whirled around at the same moment. As fast as his feet carried him, he ran away from the terrible man who knew so much about him that it took his breath away.

He took five steps before the ground seemed to turn into tar. His legs no longer obeyed him. There was a constant bluster roaring in his ears, colors and lights danced before his eyes. He squinted them, trying to focus, but in vain. The world around him was spinning wildly in a vicious swirl. His stomach began to rebel, urging him to distribute its contents on the street. Bitter bile sloshed into his mouth. He choked it down again, tried the next step, stumbled, fell to one knee, pushed back up, only to fall down again.  
"You can not fight it," he heard the giant's voice from far, far away. "Better give up before it gets embarrassing."  
"Never," Brad said between his gritted teeth. With pure willpower, he fought the dizziness, got up one last time before he collapsed into the dust on the road.

The last thing he saw was the face of the giant leaning over him. His mouth twisted into a broad, smug grin.  
"And by the way, _my_ name is _Vertigo_."


	2. II

The first thing that wormed its way into his consciousness was a hum. Deep and even, it slipped into his perception, followed by the vibration of the ground beneath him. Seconds later it was followed by a raging headache, that made him gasp for breath. His skull felt like a steamroller had passed over it. Groaning, he rolled over and bumped his knee against a metal bar.

"Ah, our Sleeping Beauty waking up," he heard a voice from somewhere above. He tried to classify it, but the headache and the furry, sour taste in his mouth made deliberate thinking impossible. He groaned again and wanted to raise his head. It proved to be a mistake mistake, when a scorching hot knife penetrated his spinal cord and threatened to tear his head off.

"You better stay down until the narcotic has completely worn off. We do not want you to get hurt, " the voice boomed again. "Come here. Let me help you."

Before he could reply, massive hands grabbed him and brought him into an upright position. Something cold and smooth was pressed to his lips.

"Drink it. It will make it better. "

Bitterness washed the furry feeling in his mouth away, leaving only sharp clarity. Clarity about _who_ had administered this refreshment to him.

Brad's eyes snapped open and widened, staring into the giant's grinning shark face.

"You'll be alright in no time," he purred, patting Brad's cheek with his paw. "You already look much better, Bradley."

"What? Where? Who?"

The giant grinned even wider. "Aren't that a lot of questions for starters? Let's have dinner first. You must be hungry and we won't have much time left to dine in peace after landing. "

As the massive figure cleared this field of vision, Brad suddenly realized where the steady buzzing sound he heard in the background was coming from.

"An airplane," he gasped. "I'm on a plane."

He looked down and noticed that his clothes had disappeared. Instead, he wore a dark gray jumpsuit.

"What's going on here?"

"Do you want to eat or not?", the giant repeated his offer a little more impatiently. The friendly facade crumbled for a moment, but the man immediately regained control. He pointed to a bench on one side of the small passenger plane and sat down on the other side. Without waiting for Brad's appearance, he reached for the flatware and continued his meal.

Uncertain, Brad rose and stumbled to the seat assigned to him. Gratefully for having reached the bank without collapsing, he slipped onto the smooth leather. On the table before him was a selection of dishes, but he did not touch them. His hunger for information was greater than the one in his stomach.

"What do you want from me?" he asked straight out. He had decided not to be intimidated, because that was obviously what the giant intended. Since he was in an inferior position anyway, after being knocked out and kidnapped it probably could not get much worse.

"You certainly have courage, lad," the giant, who called himself Vertigo, grunted. "I like that. Finally someone with balls. "

He put the last bit into his mouth, took a sip from his glass, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Carelessly, he dropped the piece of cloth onto the plate.

"So, you have questions. Well then shoot! "

He leaned back in his seat as far as he could and looked at Brad, the way a child would look at a beetle that had fallen on its back and was struggling to get to its feet again.

"Who are you? What do you want from me? Where are you taking me? "

Vertigo made a disapproving sound. "You really want to have your cake and eat it. But I'll go easy on you just this once. First of all, we are on our way to Europe. More specifically to Germany. You've certainly heard of it before. We have a facility there for kids and teens like you. People with ... special abilities. You have a special ability, don't you, Bradley? "

Brad stared at the giant man. His thoughts kept running through his head. How did Vertigo know, how did _anyone_ know about it? He had never talked about it. To no one. Who would have believed him anyway? Foreseeing the future, that was something for Gypsies and charlatans. Cheap tricks that fooled people into seeing what they wanted to see. He had not believed it himself at first.

It had started shortly after his 12th birthday. At first, there had only been little things. Déjà-vus, he thought at first. Things that happened and that he was sure he had experienced before. The dog barking out from behind a fence. The ice cream van that drove by and stopped at the corner because a girl came running out of the house with her mother. But these incidents piled up. He startled at night because he heard his mother call, just to hear that very same call three days later at lunchtime. It was coincidental, unpredictable, and it had scared him to death.

There had been days when he wanted to confess everything to his mother. But she had been so busy. With her work, with his father, with his little sibling, which was to be born any time soon. And then there was this day when she went to the hospital and came back without a baby. After that she had just been an empty shell. A dress wearing a pale face. Brad had not gone to the funeral. His father had beaten him for it and he had remained silent.

"You know what I'm talking about," Vertigo's voice urged itself into his seclusion. "You have the gift of seeing the future, my boy. I know, because we have been watching you. "

"Watching me?" That felt uncomfortable. Had they seen something like...? He tired to abandon the thought and tried to suppress the images that rose in his head. But now that he had summoned the memory, he could not chase them away anymore.

When he had realized what was going on - at least he thought he had - he had tried to use the gift on purpose. He had locked himself in his room, pulled the curtains and tried to see. And he had not been prepared for what awaited him. It was as if he had stepped naked into a blizzard. Millions and millions of images had crushed down on him, threatening to rip his mind to pieces. Using his last ounce of strength, he had managed to exclude them. When he awoke, he lay crumpled on the floor of his room, his pants wetted, while his father pounded the door and yelled at him to open it immediately. Brad never tried to see the future again. Instead, he spent all his energies banishing the hated visions from his head. Since then, only suspicions remained. Things scratching on the edge of his consciousness and he had tried not to pay too much attention to them as not to open the door to madness again.

"What ..." he croaked and gratefully reached for the glass of water that Vertigo handed him. He tossed it down in one sip. "What happened to my clothes?"

Vertigo's blond eyebrows lifted in surprised. Then he smiled. "We sent them back. One of our men took them to your parents' house. They will not miss you. "

Brad's breath suspended. His hands clawed against the tabletop. He was dizzy and he felt nausea crawling up at him. The giant man smiled knowingly and Brad also knew. He knew it, because he had seen it. A few days ago he had had a dream, he thought. A disturbingly vivid dream, but so absurd that he had dismissed it as a fantasy.

A man in a uniform had rung his parents' door. In his hand he held a crumpled, blood-spattered bundle of clothes. When his mother opened the door and saw the clothes, she clapped her hands over her mouth and screamed. His father appeared at the door. The uniformed man said something and the two stepped back to let him in. The door closed again. Shortly after, you heard two shots.

"Bastard!" Brad shouted and jumped up to pounce at Vertigo. "You killed them."

The giant shoved him hard and threw him back onto the seat. Tears clouded Brad's eyes. He did not have the strength to get up again.

"Technically, that's probably true," Vertigo admitted . "We can not afford witnesses. But do you know what the police will think if they find the bodies of your parents with your bloody clothes in the house and you gone missing? Think about it, Bradley. "

Vertigo stood and left Brad alone with his misery. His world had been shattered and he was sitting in the shards. He could not go back. He would be imprisoned. They would not believe him. The only thing left was to look ahead. Into the future. A bitter smile crept onto his lips. The _future_. Which irony. The thing that scared him the most, was the only thing left to him.

The airplane suddenly jerked as it went deeper. Clouds passed in front of the round windows. A mountain range appeared. Majestic, snow-capped peaks with deep, rugged valleys. Dark woods that stretched far up the slopes. Valleys with miniature cities shining in red and white. A large, glass-blue lake swarmed with small, white boats appeared and disappeared behind them as the small plane approached the landing pad. A short run, in the middle of no-man's-land in the great mountainous landscape, a tiny hangar and dozens of black uniformed guards patrolling the edge of the airstrip. Next to the control tower he spotted an off-road vehicle waiting. There was a rumble as the wheels touched the ground.

Vertigo pushed himself into Brad's field of vision. He nodded to him. "So, my boy, here we are. Welcome to Rosenkreuz."


	3. III

The drive took longer than expected. Brad felt like he spent hours sitting in the backseat of the jeep with Vertigo, with nothing but trees and stones passing by on the outside. Just when he thought the trip would never end, a gate appeared in the middle of a broad forest track. Two large metal door leafs blocked the way. To the right and left meter-high wire mesh disappeared into the forest. The upper end was secured with additional barbed wire. To the outside _and_ to the inside, as Brad noticed.

The guard at the gate stopped them and received some papers from the driver of the car. Suddenly a telephone rang. The guard asked the driver to wait and went to pick up the phone in a small house next to the gate.  
Vertigo cracked his knuckles. "If you want something done right..."  
The massive man got out of the car and before the driver could stop him, Brad had jumped out of the door behind him.

The guard was still busy talking on the phone, but when he noticed who had gotten out of the car, he quickly ended the call.  
"C-Commander," he stuttered, "I did not know you..."  
"Instead of chatting with your mother during duty, do your fucking job," Vertigo growled. "Open the gate _now_."  
"I-immediately, Commander. All I have to do is ... "The guard leafed through the pages and then stopped. He peered up from the sheets to take a look at Brad and then back to the folder in his hands.  
"Commander, there must be a mistake here."  
"What kind of mistake?"  
"It says, you bring a Precog. But the boy ... "  
" _Is_ a Precog," Vertigo confirmed, smiling like a father would smile while pulling his belt to give his offspring a proper beating.  
"Th-Then everything is fine."  
The man escaped into his guardhouse and gave a signal. The gate wings swung to the side and a sandy forecourt with several buildings came into view.  
"Come on, let's go," Vertigo growled, pushing Brad back into the car.  
They passed the gate, that immediately closed behind them.

Brad had expected that they would head for one of the white painted buildings, but Vertigo gave the driver the order to drive to the "bunker".  
"I want to introduce you to someone," he told Brad. "She will be amazed."

The car rolled down a wide unpaved road. Between the trees, a wide scree area appeared, that dropped off on a rugged edge. As the car drove on a steep cliff emerged. It showed traces of opencast mining. An old quarry.  
The trip ended on a large clay court at the foot of the slope. Brad saw another large building and several wooden barracks in the adjacent woods. However, he had no time to take a closer look, as Vertigo pushed him straight to the quarry. Brad did not notice the door, which was integrated into the rock face like painted until they stood right in front of the stony wall. Vertigo pressed a hidden switch and they went inside.

Brad had expected a dark cave, but instead he entered a brightly lit lobby.  
"What the ...?"

He was cut off by a warning signal and several alarmed calls. In between there were loud shrieks that approached them quickly. Seconds later, a small, female figure turned around a corner. The girl was short and ran as fast as she could with her bare feet making slapping sounds on the polished stone floor. She screamed as if the devil was right on her heels. Behind her, the shadows of her pursuers covered the wall.

Brad acted on instinct. He jumped forward and grabbed the girl, She was eight or maybe nine years old. White-blond hair fell down to her shoulders and her eyes were wide open. Huge, amber-colored lakes seemed to stare right into his soul. He felt her heart beat against her chest. She twisted in his arms, tried to pull free, but Brad held her tight.  
"I will not hurt you, but you have to stop screaming. Stop screaming!"  
Her wailing slowly faded until it finally merged into a sob. Tears clouded her eyes and she slumped against Brad's chest. He patted her on the back a little stiffly while the salty liquid wetted his overall.  
"Shhh ... that's better," he whispered softly.  
Someone stepped up to him and before he knew what was happening, they had given the girl an injection. Her body went limp and a man in a white coat took the girl from his arms. Brad got up and looked around for Vertigo. He was apparently reprimanding the guards who had been following the girl. When he was done, he dismissed the men with an impatient gesture.

"Damn idiots," he growled. "You'd think that it is not so hard to take care of a few brats that barely let got of their mother's tits."  
He gave Brad a respectful look. "That was quite impressing, boy. Not everyone manages to calm a panicked empath. You have to radiate a lot of confidence to do that. "  
"Empath?" Brad had heard the word before, but did not know what it meant.  
"They perceive emotions. Some need physical contact, others suffice with physical proximity. Some of them may even transfer feelings to another person."

Brad nodded absently. The girl's wide gaze still haunted him. It made him feel uneasy an vulnerable. He looked around the hall once more and made a comprehensive gesture.  
"What is all this?" he asked.  
"A training center," Vertigo replied. "For supernatural talents like you and the little emotion reader. Do you want a guided tour? Ms. Nakamura will still need about half an hour before we will be able to meet her. "  
Vertigo pointed invitingly into the direction where the white coat had disappeared with the girl. "Shall we start here?"

Brad agreed and they went to the bright corridor. Brad had no doubt that they would end up in the lobby at the end of the arched hallway that seemed to circle around it. For now, however, they stopped at a glass window, through which he could see a kind of examination room.

There were countless meters on the walls. Large gray boxes with scoreboards and buttons. They blinked and Brad imagined a steady beeping, but no sound escaped through the thick pane. A table was placed in the middle of the room with a dark-haired boy sitting behind it. Like Brad, he was dressed in gray overalls. His forehead and temples had electrodes attached to a monitor in the background. Next to him stood a man in a white coat with a clipboard in his hand. He spoke to the boy, then put a metal cylinder on the table in front of him. The boy frowned and focused on the cylinder.  
"What is he doing?" Brad demanded to know.  
"Look, then you know it," was the answer. "If the little toad is any good."

Slowly and barely visible, the cylinder began to move on the table. At first it only shivered, then it slid towards the edge of the table inch by inch. The monitor in the background showed distinct waves and a light blinked. Only when the weight had dropped from the table, the boy's tension eased. He cheerfully looked up at the white coat, but the man just wrote something on his clipboard, picked up the cylinder, and put it back on the table. With a gesture he instructed the boy to repeat the axercise. The boy clenched his teeth and concentrated again.  
"Telekinesis," Vertigo explained. "Maybe he will be of some use. Let's see what else we have to offer."

In the next room, that looked quite similar to the first, a girl sat in front of a candle. At her hand movements, the flame grew or shrank, flickering in one direction and then into another, even breaking away from its source for a moment before it went out. The woman in the coat accompanying the girl said something that conjured up a slight smile on the girl's face. Then the woman lit the candle again.  
"Ah, a little fire charmer," Vertigo muttered. "Pyrokinetics are not as rare as you think. Most, however, do not recognize their talent. "

The next room was empty, but the following showed a boy again. He sat in front of a metal cylinder just like the first, only this time the cylinder did not move. The boy held out his hands, sweat beads forming on his forehead grimacing under the effort, but the weight remained where it was. The man next to him shook his head, went to the door and pressed the button of a box next to it. Brad suspected some kind of intercom system.  
The boy jumped up. There was panic on his face. He screamed inaudibly, grabbed the man by the coat and was shaken off. The boy fell to his knees, shouting, begging, but the man remained unmoved. Finally, the door opened and two black uniformed guards entered the room. They took the boy between them and now Brad heard his cries from afar.  
"Please, let me try again. I can do it. Let me stay! I can do it. Please! Nooooo! "

"Dead wood," Vertigo growled. "We are not the Salvation Army."  
A young woman joined them. "Ms. Nakamura wants to see you now. Please follow me to the elevator."

Hesitantly Brad followed Vertigo and the woman, the cries of the boy still echoing in his mind.

The narrow, steel cabin took them three floors down. Brad just saw that there had to be six floors in total before he was led out of the elevator. Again they entered a brightly lit corridor.  
"She's in Cabin 2," the young woman said before leaving Brad and Vertigo and headed elsewhere

They entered a room through a kind of airlock. It reminded Brad of a sickroom rather than an examination room. The smell of disinfectants and other unpleasant liquids filled the air. A respirator pumped monotonously next to a barred bed. A small woman with a steel-gray bun stood by the bed staring at a small monitor.  
"Greetings, Ms. Nakamura. I heard you did a good job in my absence. "  
The woman turned and eyed Brad with hard, almond-shaped eyes before greeting Vertigo with a firm handshake.  
"Commander. It's good to have you back here. I hope the journey was enjoyable?" Her voice had a strange singing tone. She had no accent, but it was felt that she preferred to express herself in another, probably Asian, language.  
"Extremely pleasant, certainly," Vertigo replied jovially. "And as you can see, I brought you a small surprise."

The hard eyes rested on Brad again and a greedy expression appeared in the woman's stare. "Is he the one? That would be …" She stopped talking and put her hands over her mouth.  
"It's him," Vertigo confirmed. "A viable specimen. A real splendor. "  
Mrs. Nakamura reached out for Brad with her bony fingers and examined him. She looked into his nose, eyes and ears, fingered his wrists, felt his body. He felt more and more like a breeding horse being examined by a potential buyer.

Suddenly a rattle came from the bed behind them. The monitor next to the headboard came to life and drew hectic wavy lines. A meter began to spit out a roll of paper. Mrs. Nakamura released Brad's arm and hurried to the strip of paper.  
"Ah, good boy. So you don't want to leave us, yet," she chirped, examining her notes. Brad, on the other hand, was magically attracted to the sight of the bed. He took a step forward and shuddered.

There was a boy about his age. The head was shaved and plastered with innumerable electrodes. The face almost completely disappeared behind a large breathing mask, its tube attached to the pump at the end of the bed. His pale, spindly arms twitched uncontrollably on the covers. The spidery hands were cramped and the overlong nails tore the skin on the inside drawing blood. It was the only color on this ghost-like creature. Worst of all were the wide-open eyes, that rolled uncontrollably in their caves, so only the yellowish white was visible.

The epileptic fit ended as quickly as it had come, and the boy collapsed back into the pillows. Mrs. Nakamura tore off the strip of paper and waved it in the air like a victory banner.  
"Finally a vision. And I thought we had to dispose him "  
Brad stare was still glued to the bed.  
"What ... what's that?" He finally managed to croak.  
Vertigo stood next to him and put his arm around his shoulders in a paternal gesture.  
"That, my boy, is a Precog."

Brad felt like the walls of the room were caving in. Hot and cold shivers ran down his spine. His legs buckled under and his throat felt dry. He had to get out of here.  
"I think we've seen enough for today," Vertigo announced. "We will discuss everything else tomorrow morning."

The massive man brought him back to the surface. In the square in front of the bunker, Brad took a deep breath, until his stomach had calmed down and his hands had stopped shaking.  
"You'll have to get used to the sight, boy," he heard Vertigo behind him. "You will learn to see the future from them. It's just a shame they will not learn from you how to keep it out of their heads. "  
"From _them_?" Brad echoed. "Does that mean there are more of these ... _things_?"  
"That's the spirit, Bradley," Vertigo praised. "Don't let anything get close to you in here. But to answer your question: Yes, there are more of them. Twelve in total, even if two of them are already on the verge of death. Too worn out. You see, the drugs, the tube feeding and everything for years. All good things have to come to an end. But we hope that you will be spared of that. "  
The man grinned broadly and patted Brad on the shoulder, encouraging him to move toward the forest. "Come on. I'll show you the quarters."

Brad was about to follow him when the bunker door opened again. Two guards came out pushing a kind of wheeled stretcher. The vehicle lurched on the uneven ground, and as they passed over a rock, the blanket on top slipped to the side. A human arm appeared underneath and Brad shuddered. The last time he saw that arm it had been stretched out to a metal cylinder that just would not move.


	4. IV

_Three years later._

The boy was hanging upside down on the carpet hanger of the small backyard with closed eyes. He was small for his age. His shoes looked worn-out, his trousers two sizes too big and held in place by suspenders. The too-wide flat cap had slipped from his head into the sun-dried grass and gave view to a bright orange-red shock of hair. The boy listened to the sounds of his surroundings. Those that could be heard, like the chirping of grasshoppers and the jumble of a radio that came out of one of the windows, and those that only he heard. Silent voices, whispering, cursing, laughing, crying, happy, desperate, shameless, upset, disgusted.

High above him, a window opened. Someone called his name. He opened his eyes and saw his mother poke her head out of the narrow kitchen window.  
"Get in here, food is ready!"

He ignored her and tried to recapture the voices, but the magic of the moment was gone. HIs mother repeated her call. She sounded tired and impatient. With a sigh, he released his legs from the metal bar and, after a skillful turn, came down feet first. He got his cap off the floor and pulled it back down so that only half of his face could be seen. He did not like when people stared at him.  
He hurried past the ash barrels and opened the door to the stairwell. The smell of cooked cabbage and floor wax washed over him. He stopped and waited until his eyes had gotten used to the lack of brightness and the courtyard door had closed behind him. In the yellow-and-brown checkered half-light he swung himself up the thick wooden railing polished by countless hands, always taking two of the well-worn steps at once.

On the first landing he suddenly stopped and pricked up his ears. A car had pulled up and stopped in front of the house. That was unusual. He ducked and peered through the bars of the railing into the hallway. Several shadows appeared in front of the glass insert of the double-leafed front door. Above him, the door bell one of the apartments rang. Torn between curiosity and caution, he stayed in place staring at the shadows. There were many of them. Definitely five or six men. That could only mean trouble. When the door buzzer was pressed, he let go of the railing and fled up the stairs while wisely omitting the creaking steps.

He arrived at the top floor a little bit short of breath. His mother was in the process of tying her hair neatly. She smoothed her apron and gave him a small smile that did not reach her eyes.  
"Go and wash your hands," she said, pushing him toward the small bathroom. "I'll be right back. Someone rang at the door. "  
He froze in the movement. There were heavy footsteps in the stairwell. Boots maltreated the groaning steps. A threatening thunderstorm that rolled up the stairs unopposed. His heart pounded, he did not dare to breathe. With his last ounce of strength, he tore himself from the grip of his fear and rushed into the bathroom. The familiar, slightly musty odor of stale water and hard soap was in the air. It was cool in here. He turned on the water and put his hands into the stream. There were voices in the hallway now. He closed the tap and listened.

"We're here for the boy," one of the men said. "We want to talk to him."  
"Oh, did he do something wrong?" His mother's voice sounded worried. He knew she was fiddling with her apron ribbons. She always did that when she was nervous.  
"Not yet," the man answered and one or two others laughed. "Now bring him here."  
The boy did not like the condescending tone of the man. He pressed his jaws together. What was he supposed to do?  
"He ... he's in the bathroom," his mother said now. "Wait, I'll get him."  
"Not necessary," the man replied, and a moment later heavy boots moved toward the door that hid him. The door was pushed open and a man in a black uniform entered the room.  
"Got you, bub," he growled, grabbed his shoulder and shoved him outside.

Two men, also dressed in uniforms, stood at the front door, legs apart. Two more were positioned at the entrances to the kitchen and the bedroom. The one who had talked to his mother stood in the middle of the hall. When she saw him coming out of the bathroom, she tried to get to him, but the man held her by the wrist.

"Please...my son...", she stammered. "Don't hurt him."  
"That's entirely up to him," the man replied. He released his mother and gestured to his men. "We're finished here. Wrap up and leave!"

The uniformed man next to him strengthened the grip on his shoulder and pushed him down the hall towards the door.  
"No, you can't do that. You can't take him!" his mother shouted. She was about to lunge at the man at his side, but the commanding officer shoved her roughly against the wall and stood up in front of her. His leather clad finger almost pierced her face.  
"If you know what's good for you, stay calm now," he hissed. "And not a single word to anyone about this."  
"Leave her alone," the boy snarled and tried in vain to wriggle out of the grip of the man at his side.  
The leader turned around. A malicious grin decorated his face. "Or else what, kid? What do you want to do that against me and my men? "

He bucked against the firm grip again and stared at the man with clenched teeth. The prick was right. He could not overcome them with physical superiority. That did not mean he was defenseless though. There was something he could do. He had done it sometimes ... admittedly many times. Mostly to his own mother. If he heard her think about giving him a lecture about his grades at lunch for example. Or if she wanted to force him to clean up his room or do yet another unpleasant job.

There was this point in her head. If he squeezed gently, like testing a pear for ripeness, she got a headache. Then she had to lie down and he was save from her nagging. It worked every time and he had stopped feeling guilty about it long ago. He concentrated on that point inside the man's head now, but instead of gentle pressure, he rather thought of a sharp knife.

The man in front of him him swayed for a moment. His hand went to his forehead and he frowned. Then he suddenly huffed furiously, took a big step, and slapped him hard. The boy's head was thrown back and a terrible ringing suddenly overlapped the sounds of his surroundings. Everything went black black and he tasted blood in his mouth.

He heard his mother call out. Muffled, as if his ears were blocked by cotton wool. "No! My son!"

There was a scuffle, followed by a dull thud and a strangled sound. With the last of his strength he forced his eyes to open and watched as his mother slowly slid down the doorpost. The back of her head left a broad trail of blood on the light wood. Her eyes were wide open, her lips moving. Softly, infinitely distant, she whispered his name.

He wanted to break away, to get to her, comfort her, but his body did not obey. Helplessly, he had to watch the light in her eyes go out. She remained sunk-down on the floor, his beloved flat cap in her hands still.

And what about him? He was carried away from the place he had called his home for years. Sometimes it had seemed like a prison with its tight spaces, its closed-up walls, its narrow-minded people. He had been angry. Angry at his mother, who locked him up, and he had sometimes enjoyed the feeling of her being afraid of him. Afraid of what he could do to her head. But he had never wanted something like that to happen.

He no longer registered that he was placed in the back of the car. Did not hear that the destination of the ride was the airport. Did not feel the needle in his arm, which was supposed to keep him quiet. The only thing he still felt was his desire for revenge.

 **Newspaper report in the evening of the same day:** __

 _For unknown reasons, a car strayed off the highway this afternoon and overturned on an unsecured slope. Witnesses report that only one inmate, a 14-year-old boy, was able to escape the flames. He was taken in by the driver of a second vehicle, who stopped at the accident site shortly after, and has since been missing. Relevant information about the accident and the whereabouts of the boy are to be passed to the local police department._


	5. V

Cold water ran down his face as he rested his hands on the edge of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. His black hair fell deep into his face, the bangs covering his eyes, which lay deep and dark in their sockets. He was pale. The last weeks and months had left their mark on him. And yet each of them had been worth it. He curled his lips into a feral smile. No, the face in front of him did not hold any childlike features anymore.

Brad wiped the last drops off his face with a towel and put his glasses back on. He left the washing corner and walked through the dorm to his bed. His clothes were neatly folded on the coarse gray blanket. While he was buttoning his shirt, he heard a noise at the door. He turned his head and saw a girl with long, dark red hair standing in the door frame. He knew her fleetingly. She was one of the obscura, the awakeners of fear and darkness.  
The girl nervously fingered the folds of her black dress. It amused him that one of her kind seemed to be afraid of him. Although probably not afraid of him, but rather of his position and influence.  
"What do you want?" he finally helped her out.  
"Vertigo is sending for you," she finally managed. "He's waiting for you at the main gate."

He nodded and dismissed her with a gesture. _Vertigo_. He was the real reason the girl was afraid of him. Brad was his well-known darling, his primus, his right-hand man. Nowadays more than ever. He and Ms. Nakamura had made a progress far beyond anything she had achieved with a Precog before. Instead of drooling on a bedside and reporting only on paper strips, he was able to track time stretches over several hours if they did not derive too much. Sometimes he even managed to catch a glimpse of things that lay far ahead in the future. Often these pictures were still vague, but his instructors were satisfied. Highly satisfied even. Since his Japanese became so good that she could teach him in her mother tongue, Ms. Nakamura sometimes even showed hints of a smile, though he might have been wrong about that.

There was, however, another reason Vertigo valued him so much. And that was exactly why he had been summoned to the gate right now.

"There must be a new delivery coming up," he said to himself. Apart from him, there were only three other boys in the barracks at the moment. They had been picked up for training early in the morning and had tried to be as quiet as possible in the process to avoid waking him. Nevertheless, he had heard them whispering to each other while they set up their beds at the far end of the row for the inspection. No one talked to him if it could be avoided. Brad welcomed that. Personal relationships were something that sooner or later led to problems in the camp. They made you vulnerable. He had not fought his way to the top of the food chain just to be overthrown by unnecessary emotions.

He met his instructor as ordered at the main gate, where he was waiting impatiently for the incoming transport.  
"Ah, Bradley," the big man called cheerfully, showing a big grin. Ever since their first meeting, the big man's face had lost its deterrent effect on Brad. Even their difference in size them had shrunk, though Vertigo still towered over him by a head. "How nice of you to show up. I have good news."  
"We're getting new recruits." Brad acted cool. It was not the first time they met here.  
"Oh, you had to spoil my fun, hadn't you? Damn Precog! "Vertigo faked a boxing punch and Brad avoided him playfully. Then he stood next to his instructor, who put one of his huge paws on Brad's shoulder. The touch made Brad uncomfortable, but he did not show it. It was not advisable to annoy Vertigo, even when he was in such a good mood.

Engine noise was heard at last, and then the big barbed-wire double wings of the gate opened to let the transport in. He stopped right in front of the main house and two guards jumped off the back of the truck. They opened the back doors and a handful of children and teenagers got out. Most of them were already wearing the gray coveralls that all newcomers got. You had to earn the right to wear proper clothes later. There was one exception, though.  
"My my, what do we have there?" Vertigo exulted and licked his lips. "Mm, a redhead. Pretty appetizing, right? What a nice, fancy color. Would be something new. Do you think he is a suitable candidate? "  
"He looks like he's trouble," Brad retorted. And that was an exorbitant understatement. The red-haired boy did not just look like he was trouble. He had the word all but tattooed on his forehead.  
"You're not far from the truth," Vertigo replied. "The rascal killed his entire snatching team. They all died in a fire. "  
Brad frowned. "A pyromancer?"  
Vertigo tapped his temple with two fingers. "Telepath. Unfortunately, we do not know much more about him. The file was destroyed in the fire as well. They found him in Berlin, but there are no more details. So let's take a look at the bunch. "

Brad stayed behind while Vertigo picked up the children. He watched as the newcomers moved in intimidated as they became aware of the giant instructor. Only the redhead still looked a little defiant. Brad was sure that would soon be history. Vertigo would keep an eye on him and everyone in the camp knew what that meant. Even the slightest mistake would cost the boy his head ... or worse.

The new one lasted until lunchtime. Brad had just sat down on one of the tables in the refectory when he heard the commotion at the counter where the food was served. In the middle of it the red-haired telepath. Brad did not understand what it was about, but probably the usual lousy quality of the food was the topic. If he looked at the gray-brown porridge on his plate, he could only agree with the little troublemaker. Nevertheless, the boy would have better kept his mouth shut, because now Vertigo had his big performance.

The giant instructor stepped up and addressed the boy. The redhead answered in a tone that made Brad smile involuntarily. He had to admit the brat had some courage. But throwing his plate next to Vertigo's feet was definitely less than clever. The plate broke with a loud crash and some of the unsavory glob sprayed on Vertigo's brightly polished boots.

A murmur went through the crowd followed by breathless silence. It was clear that everyone - even those who had been very busy with their meal – had their attention focused on the incident in the front of the room. The consequence was inevitable, because there was one thing that Vertigo hated more than lack of obedience. That thing was dirt on his shoes. He glared at the redheaded boy and hissed something menacingly. Then he beckoned two uniformed guards, who took the unfortunate boy into custody and carried him away.

Vertigo straightened up and looked around. Countless heads jerked around and immediately the usual noise of many spoons on already scratched plates filled the room again. Vertigos and Brad's eyes met over the many bent down heads. The instructor lifted his chin and Brad lowered his eyes obediently. He knew what he would have to do in the evening.


	6. VI

The old warehouse was hidden behind some trees a few steps away from the main road. During the day, the ramshackle building with its weight benches, stretching bars and climbing ropes served as a training room to the inmates of the camp. The devices were old, worn and showed clear signs of decay and rust. In the dwindling light of the approaching night, they resembled medieval torture instruments casting forbidding shadows onto the worn cement floor. The real threat, however, lurked in a brightly lit area in the back of the hall. A boxing ring had been installed here, more recently than the other equipment. A fighter had already taken his place in one corner, waiting for his opponent.

Brad circled and stretched his arms to keep his muscles warm and supple. His bare upper body showed defined, although not really voluminous muscles developed by steady training. His hands were wrapped in white bandages. A little impatient, he let his eyes wander to the front door. Vertigo was taking his time this evening. Normally, this was nothing out of the ordinary, but he had seen the greed in the man's eyes. It was not like him to delay the beginning of the upcoming spectacle that long.

Other inmates had already gathered n the semi-darkness around the ring, a peculiar tension circulating among them. It increased the longer the start of the fight was delayed. It reminded Brad of a quote he had recently read. _There are things we never tire of looking at: fire, water and the suffering of others._ The crowd around the boxing ring was literally craving for blood as long as it was not their own. And Brad was a guarantee for blood. He knew how to use his gift during the fight, anticipating the movements of his opponent. Very few could oppose that. He also had no qualms about ruthlessly exploiting that advantage.

At that moment, the door opened and a massive shadow stood out against the moonlit night. At his side a smaller outline, which was now led to the ring like a lamb to the slaughter. Vertigo and the red-haired telepath appeared in the ring of light.  
"Ah, you've already prepared everything." Vertigo beamed at Brad. "Very nice, let's start."  
He turned to the smaller boy. " You have one chance. Win the fight and you'll get to save your bacon. "

Brad suppressed a snort. This sentence was a single farce. The runt wouldn't have a dog's chance against him. As usual, Vertigo had chosen a small, rather slim boy. It matched his preferences. The redhead had not been trained yet, so he could not use his skills against Brad. He was just here to supply Vertigo with a new toy. After the fight Vertigo would take the boy into his special "care" and then he would disappear forever. Like the others before him. Brad did not think about it as long as it kept his mentor happy and secured his own position.

The fight started and Brad went straight to the attack. Vertigo liked it, when he did not hesitate too long, and the other spectators also greeted this quick opening with loud, cheering calls and applause. To Brad's astonishment, however, the younger boy evaded him with just too playful ease and just laughed at him. He did not look terrified at all and let out a vile tirade of swear words. Brad did not understand most of them, but Vertigo seemed to enjoy them. Brad raised an eyebrow questioningly.  
"Oh," Vertigo snorted, "he called you a slowpoke, a sissy and something I'd rather not translate." The instructor grinned. "I would like to have him back in one piece."

Brad turned back to the smirking boy and growled, "We'll see, you little devil."  
Then he lunged at the other boy and let his fists do the talking. Brad hit the boy hard two or three times until the redhead was able to escape from the corner and sought shelter on the other side of the ring. Uncertainty flickering in his eyes and the realization that he had obviously underestimated his opponent. Brad rumbled an unmistakable threat, then moved slowly toward the boy. He knew he was not to hurt him too much, but this was personal now. He had dared to obviate Brad's control over the course of the fight, and that was something Brad would not tolerate.

The boy's eyes widened as Brad came closer, almost leisurely. There nearly was a glimmer of panic to it. That was when the headache started.

Brad felt a creeping, but unceasing, mental power in his head. It could not be Vertigo, because Brad knew his power and its effect. This was not the normal dizziness he had felt far too often. It was more like a kind of mental needle that continued to pierce his brain, causing a hellish pain.

Uncertain, Brad stopped and moved his hand towards his head. He looked at the redhead and saw the concentration painted in his face. Brad clenched his teeth to bite back his arising anger. He had not assumed that this would be a showdown of a special kind.

' _All right'_ Brad thought and sneered. _'If you want it that way, we can take the fight to this level as well._

He strengthened his defense and felt the headache slowly subside. But suddenly it returned with such force that Brad groaned involuntarily. The needle had turned into a glowing knife that pierced his thoughts and made his shields waver. Dimly he realized that someone else entered the ring, while the red-haired boy reinforced the attack. A sense of fear began to rise in Brad. What if he completely lost control? When the shields fell and he was exposed to the madness lurking behind.

A voice at his ear brought him back to reality.  
"Come on, Brad, you can do it," Vertigo whispered hoarsely and Brad vaguely took in the warm, sour breath that brushed against his ear. "Remember what I taught you? His mind is completely defenseless now. Do you think he would be able to fend you off? Go on, grab him!"

Brad did not think long and dropped his shields. At the same time, he withdrew his perception as far as possible into himself, so that the stream of images and information shot unfiltered through the connection the other boy had created.

Brad heard a strangled cry and forced his eyes open. What he saw was both interesting and cruel. The other boy's eyes were wide open, his body twitching uncontrollably. Obviously, just as Vertigo had foreseen, he was unable to shield himself from the stream of information he got from Brad's precognition. A thin trickle of blood was running down his nose while his mind was flooded.

"Enough," Vertigo ordered after a while. "Let him go."

Obediently, though with some effort, Brad brought his mental shields up again. The other boy swayed for a moment, then his eyes rolled inwards and he collapsed on the floor. Vertigo came up to him, felt his pulse, and nodded.

"The show is over," he announced to the rest of the audience, who apparently had grown a lot more people during the fight, as Brad gradually became aware of more and more pairs of eyes staring up at them from the semi-darkness around the boxing ring. Vertigo glared at them.  
"Anyone who is still here in two minutes will have to report to me directly."

This threat worked wonders, and within moments, only the instructor, Brad and the unconscious boy were left. Vertigo stooped and carefully picked up the limp body. In the big man's arms, the redhead looked like a broken doll, his head swinging from right to left.

Vertigo turned to Brad.  
"That was good, Bradley," he praised, looking down at his prey with a malicious grin. Brad did not answer. His gaze was still focused on his unconscious opponent. For some reason, he had retained a bitter aftertaste of this fight. His mentor adjusted his grip on the limp body and tried to pass Brad. Before he knew, what he was doing, Brad reached out and held him back. Vertigo's eyebrows contracted into an angry wrinkle.  
"What is it?" He hissed angrily, glaring at Brad.

Inwardly, Brad wondered what that obvious stupidity would cost him, but it was too late now. If he would back down now, his days would be numbered anyway. He had taken the first step to contradict and now he could not go back.  
"I don't want it", he simply said and pointed at to the other boy. "He did not loose."

Vertigo's eyes narrowed. "But he did not win either, or do you disagree with me, Bradley?"

The threat in these words was almost physically palpable, but Vertigo stuck to words. Brad did not notice the influence of the instructor's ability that would have brought him to his knees within seconds. So he tried to stay calm and added: "I said, I don't want it. Not today and not him."

The giant man tightened his grip on the redhead for a moment, then the tension in his face gave way to a broad grin.  
"Oh, I see. That's the way it goes."  
He laughed loudly now and Brad seriously wondered what in the world could be funny now.

Vertigo suddenly became serious again, approaching Brad so that the boy's body trapped between them.  
"Here," he hissed with a sneaky look on his face that revealed his predatory teeth. "Take him!"

All of a sudden, he shoved the boy into Brad's arms. Brad staggered backward with the sudden load before he could regain his balance. Astonished, he looked at Vertigo, who gave his grin a lewd undertone.  
"If you can tame him," he announced generously, "you can keep him. Take it as a kind of reward, Crawford."

With that he turned to and disappeared in the darkness below the ring with a huge leap. Shortly after that, the door clicked and Brad was alone with the other boy. Sullen, he looked down at him. That was not how he had imagined it. The blood on the boy's nose was already drying. Brad adjusted the weight in his arms and made his way back to the sleeping quarters as quickly as possible. If he was not back in time before curfew, he would be in big trouble and he was not sure if Vertigo would stand up for him this time.

' _Crawford'_ , he thought suddenly. That meant that he was now playing in a different league. This development was not necessarily unwelcome, but he did not like the reason. It was not advisable to have Vertigo against him. He had not planned it that way.

He hesitated at the entrance to his barracks. The words of his mentors echoed through his mind.  
 _'If you can tame him, you can keep him.'_  
It was beyond doubt what that meant and Brad grimaced.  
"Pervert son of a bitch!" he growled, climbing up the steps to the dorm. The bed next to him was empty, so he let the redhead fall on it, covered him fairly and wanted to turn away, when the boy opened his eyes.

"Wo?" he croaked, his eyes widenening when he saw Brad.  
Brad made a soothing gesture. "Don't worry. I will not hurt you."  
The redhead frowned and sat up. New blood shot from his nostrils and dripped onto the blanket. He cursed and tried in vain to stop the bloodstream with his hand.  
Without a word Brad handed him a handkerchief.  
"Danke," the German mumbled . He tore the cloth in two and stuffed it into his bleeding nose.  
"What's your name?" Brad asked, but the boy just shrugged. He sank down onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling. He mumbled something Brad did not understand. Disgust stood on his face and Vertigo's name fell. It's quite possible that the guy had seen what Vertigo was up to. After all, he was a telepath.

The boy turned his head and their eyes met. He said something, but Brad only shook his head as a sign that he had not understood. The other grimaced. Then he sat up straight and tried to look as serious and dignified as possible. The effect was only marginally reduced by the pieces of the handkerchief in his nose.

"Because of Vertigo I am...schuldig to you."

 _Schuldig_. Guilty. Brad snorted contemptuously. The boy was guilty of a lot of things. Guilty that Brad had lost his secured position. Guilty that the others had seen that he was vulnerable. Guilty that everything he had built up in the last three years was in ruins. The boy was indeed one big _Schuldig_ for him.  
He took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. It was definitely too late for such considerations.  
"We'll postpone the whole thing to tomorrow. You look like you need sleep. And I'll have to face Vertigo tomorrow. That won't be a walk in the park. "  
Brad did not know how he managed to get the other boy to understand him this time. The fact was, however, that the red-haired German curled up on his bed and fell asleep within a few moments. Brad switched off the lights, put his glasses aside and laid on his bed as well. He studied the patterns the moon painted on the floor of the barrack through the window.

" _Schuldig_ ," he grunted again. "I should call you that as a reminder not to burden me with personal relationships. Only fools get involved in something like that. I must have been crazy to tie you round my neck. "

He glanced at the shock of red hair on the other bed, which seemed to glow from within even in the pale light of the night. Yes, definitely crazy. He did not have to be a clairvoyant to guess that guy would get him into deep trouble on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, Brad felt strangely responsible for him.  
"We'll see what the future holds," he mumbled and finally closed his eyes.

* * *

For all non-german speakers I'd like to add some information to fully understand the end of the story. I liked the idea, that Schuldig got his name by accident. "Ich bin dir etwas schuldig" would correctly be translated as "I owe you something." Of course the other meaning fits him perfectly, but I wanted those two to have a special story behind it.

I hope you enjoyed reading my story. It was my first translation and I am not fully satisfied with the outcome. To write in English or to translate a German story into the language are two different pair of shoes. I really like the first one better. ^_~

Maybe it was also due to the fact that the style of "Kinder des Kreuzes" was slightly different to my other writing. More...serious, I think. I normally tend to mix a good portion of humor into my works, but this would not have been appropriate here. And I think, English is a little more playful than German, which made the translation kind of edgy. I hope I somehow managed to get the overtone right after all. Any comments or criticism will be appreciated.


End file.
